


bloom

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fae & Fairies, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24495043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: The first time it happened, Geralt didn’t think anything of it. He woke up in the woods, alone like always, and sat up with a yawn, blinking tiredly at the flower on his chest. He assumed, at the time, it had just gotten there from the wind. Brushing it off, he stood up and went about his day, making breakfast before washing off in a nearby stream and continuing on his travels with his trusted companion, Roach.The next time was a little harder to explain.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 773





	bloom

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

The first time it happened, Geralt didn’t think anything of it. He woke up in the woods, alone like always, and sat up with a yawn, blinking tiredly at the flower on his chest. He assumed, at the time, it had just gotten there from the wind. Brushing it off, he stood up and went about his day, making breakfast before washing off in a nearby stream and continuing on his travels with his trusted companion, Roach.

The next time was a little harder to explain.

He was sleeping with Yennefer, just months after they had met. She was asleep with her head tucked under his armpit, and his face buried in her hair, smelling strongly of lilac and gooseberries.

But then he caught the scent of something else, mixing oddly with the lilac and gooseberries, sharp like oak and yet sweet like honey.

He opened his eyes and turned to look at Yennefer, expecting her to be the cause of the change but she was still sleeping soundly, eyelashes fluttering in her deep slumber.

Mouth twisting, he looked away from her and that was when he saw it: the flower on his chest. Not the same one as before, but a dandelion by the looks of it, bright and yellow. He blinked once.

Careful not to wake her, he reached for the dandelion. The stem was still warm. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed; the natural smell of the flower was overpowered by the scent of oak and honey.

“Huh,” he breathed softly, eyes darting around the room. He should’ve been worried, maybe, considering the window was firmly shut and so was the door. But - somehow, he just wasn’t. There was no sense of danger. Turning, he placed the dandelion on the bedside table before settling back down and closing his eyes.

In the morning, he sat with Yennefer around the table in her small kitchen, eating breakfast.

“What’s your favorite flower?” he asked suddenly.

She looked up, cocking her head and arching a dark eyebrow. “Lilies.” She squinted suspiciously. “Why?”

The first flower had been a daisy, and then a dandelion. “Nothing,” he replied gruffly. “Just wondering.”

They parted ways after that, like they usually did. Geralt waited until he was far from her to open his bag and peek down at the dandelion, tucked away at the bottom of his bag for safekeeping. Roach snorted underneath him and he sighed heavily, closing the bag.

“Are _you_ doing this, Roach?” he asked with a small smile.

She snorted again, and he rolled his eyes. Yeah, that was what he thought.

Geralt wasn’t worried, even then. Flowers were hardly a threat, but he _was_ curious. He barely slept for an entire week, waiting and hoping he’d finally get an answer. But he didn’t; nothing happened for the whole week, not even when he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep for hours at a time. He gave up after that.

Maybe somehow both incidents _had_ been an accident. He didn’t exactly have an answer for the second one, yet, but _odder_ things had happened in his life, that much was certain.

He was near the coast, _months_ later, when he received the third flower. Opening his eyes, he stared at the rose perched on his chest. Except—it wasn’t just _one_ flower; it was three roses, tied together with a silk ribbon.

“Fuck,” he said to the empty room.

Climbing out of bed, he began his search for the innkeeper. He found her out back of the inn, sitting in a wicker chair and watching the crashing waves, sipping - he sniffed the air - tea, minty and sharp. She startled at his presence, nearly spilling her drink. Geralt grabbed the only other chair he could see and dragged it over, sitting down. “Did someone check in late last night?”

She squinted at him. “No.”

Judging by her heartbeat, steady and slow, he knew she was probably telling the truth. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” she replied. “Why are you asking?”

Geralt didn’t really have a reason tell her the whole story, and yet who better to tell than a total stranger? He was planning to leave in just a few days, after his contract was over. He had seen Yennefer a few times since the flowers started appearing but something always held him back from telling her about them.

He still wasn’t sure what. Certainly she would know how to deal with them.

“I woke up,” he said, shifting to pull the flowers out of his bag, “to these on my chest.”

The flowers had been squished, some of the more delicate petals having been torn in his bag. She took them from him. “These do not grow here,” she said after a while, looking at him with an odd quirk to her mouth. “Not for miles, even.”

That was news to him, of course. He knew nothing about flowers. “Really?”

She nodded, handing them back. Geralt put them back in his bag, a little too gentle. He had carried the dandelion with him for a while before eventually discarding it after the petals had wilted and started to stink in his bag. He was already planning to do the same with these.

_Why?_ he asked himself, but he never had an answer. It just seemed cruel to discard them carelessly.

“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” she said after a moment, smiling slyly. It was an odd look for a woman her age.

He snorted loudly, looking away. The sea was a beautiful sight. Even he couldn’t deny that. “I am hardly worth admiring,” he replied dryly. “More likely I have been cursed. Odd but unusual punishments are not unheard of for mages.”

“I think you underestimate yourself,” she said, also watching the water. “We all have something admirable about ourselves.”

Geralt didn’t have anything to say to that. He certainly had no interest in arguing with an elderly woman. If she wanted to live the last of her days with such a naive notion, he would not be the one to stop her.

Days later, he finished the contract and left the coast with heavier pockets. He bid farewell to the innkeeper - just to be polite, he told himself - before returning to life on the road. The roses had wilted in his bag already, but he didn’t feel like discarding them just yet.

Sometimes he felt like he could even feel _Roach_ judging him.

“What?” he asked her. “They smell nice.”

The thing was, Geralt didn’t think he was being followed because he should’ve been able to hear - or sense - them. But on his travels, he never heard or saw or felt anything. It was always just him and Roach.

Even if they were just visiting him during the night, to stay hidden, he should’ve been able to pick up on their presence before or after, right? Unless they were like Yennefer and could portal, or maybe fly. Even werewolves wouldn’t be able to disappear so completely so quickly.

The next batch of flowers showed up just days later.

Geralt was returning from washing off in a nearby stream when he saw it: not just one, two, or even _three_ flowers but a whole bunch of them, tied together with a ribbon and waiting for him. He picked it up and studied the ribbon.

Same as the one from before.

He looked up then, skin prickling, expecting the worst, but Roach was untouched, blinking at him from a few feet away, where she had been tied up a few hours earlier.

Geralt sighed, eyes dropping back to the flowers. Obviously the person - _thing_ , beast - wasn’t aiming to upset him. He lifted the flowers slowly, sniffing them. Oak and honey.

“You saw them, right?” He approached Roach. “Come on, girl, give me _something_.”

But she just blinked at him. Right, well, what else had he been expecting? He scratched behind one of her ears, sighing again.

Later, he sat around the fire, picking through each flower and looking for any hints. There was nothing. The most he had to go off of was the ribbon, silk and blue.

Leaning back, he smoothed the ribbon out. It was probably around twelve inches, not very long. Both ends were smooth. Squinting, he twisted and pulled his bag closer. His one sword still had Renfri’s brooch on it. Probably always would; a stark reminder of his life long ago. Skipping over that one, he moved to the second, tying the ribbon around the hilt.

“If you can hear me,” he said to the empty forest, “you don’t have to keep hiding.”

There was, predictably, no response. Just the quiet chirping of crickets and birds.

When he met Yennefer again a few months later (a year since the flowers started to show up), he denied her advances and _that_ caused a bit of a storm. “I don’t understand,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. She looked as beautiful as ever, and the scent of lilac and gooseberries was potent, but - despite it all - he just didn’t feel like disappearing to bed with her, not like he had before. “ _You_ were the one all over me and now you’re just - what? Over it?”

He didn’t really have a proper excuse. Even he didn’t know what had changed. “I’m sorry,” he said finally.

Yennefer stared him down, eyes dark, for a few long seconds. Then - suddenly - her shoulders slumped with a deep sigh. She stepped forward, eyes softening. “Something has happened, hasn’t it?”

He opened his mouth to answer but visibly hesitated, thinking of the flowers and the lingering scent of oak and honey. He thought of the innkeeper and couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. Yennefer seemed surprised by his smile, understandably so.

“I think I might have a secret admirer,” he said dryly.

She blinked once. “Okay,” she said eventually. “I think we’ll be needing wine for this conversation.”

Not even an hour later, they were sat together in front of a fire, passing back and forth a bottle of sugary-sweet wine Yennefer had secured from - _somewhere_. Geralt didn’t really know the details, and didn’t care to. It was best not to question her.

He explained the story, from beginning to end. By the time he had finished, Yennefer was watching him, eyes sparkling. Never a good sign.

“You really _do_ have a secret admirer,” she said with an amused quirk of her mouth.

Geralt scoffed, looking away from her to stare at the rising flames of the fire. “I do not.”

“Don’t deny it,” she said breezily. “You should be flattered.”

“I’m essentially being stalked,” he pointed out.

Yennefer waved him off, leaning back and extending the bottle to him. He grabbed it, taking a gulp. “But if what you say is true…” She paused, squinting at the fire. That was her thinking face, he knew. “Have you considered that your admirer might not be human?”

He nodded stiffly. “Of course. No human could’ve hidden their presence from me for so long.”

She rolled her eyes, mostly fond, as she took the bottle back. “Always so modest.”

With nothing to say, he just shrugged. He wasn’t conceited, despite what some may think, just realistic.

“How about we set up a trap?” she asked brightly after taking a sip, wiping her mouth. Somehow her lipstick was still there, untouched. He wondered idly if she used magic to do that.

Geralt blinked a few times, genuinely not expecting the offer. “Why would you help me?” he asked skeptically. “Especially after I turned you down earlier.”

Yennefer shoved the bottle at him. He took it. “Don’t flatter yourself; I’m not the _pining_ type. You turned me down, I can take it. I’ll have a new man - or woman - in my bed as soon as I want it.”

He smiled a little, unable to help himself. He would always appreciate - and even admire - her confidence. “I should express no less,” he replied, gesturing to her with the tip of the bottle before taking a gulp, throat burning.

“You really shouldn’t,” she replied breezily, brushing hair off her shoulders. She was silent for a long moment, staring at the fire. “I’m just - _bored_ , okay? Helping you catch your little secret friend _has_ to be more entertaining than what I’ve been doing.”

He couldn’t rightfully argue that. “But how?” He went to take another gulp just to find the bottle was empty. Frowning, he tossed it blindly. “We have nothing to go on.”

Yennefer hummed. “I’ll travel behind you for the next few days,” she said with a shrug. “Keep watch during the night. You said you hadn’t gotten a flower in months, right? If they’re still out there, they’ll be popping up soon.”

“Sounds… too easy,” he said slowly. “What if they can sense you, somehow? We still don’t know what they are, _or_ what they are capable of.”

Yennefer cut her eyes at him. “Don’t doubt me, Geralt. It’s unbecoming.” Her eyes flickered back to the fire. “I know a spell that can keep my presence concealed.” He opened his mouth. “ _Yes_ , even to the most powerful of beasts,” she continued tersely. “Stop doubting me, I mean it.”

He smiled again. After that, they didn’t talk much.

In the morning, he felt surprisingly optimistic about the whole situation. He at least had a plan, now.

They traveled separately, as decided, to trick any onlookers into thinking they weren’t together. At night, Yennefer kept watch. Night after night, nothing happened. By the second week, Yennefer looked _terrible_.

They stopped in a small town and met up in the tavern. “This isn’t working,” he said with a frown. “You’re just exhausting yourself.”

Yennefer took a sip of her ale, making a face. “They have to show themselves eventually,” she said, clearing her throat. “I can fix my schedule _after_ that.”

Geralt would’ve argued, but he knew better. There was no changing her mind. She was as stubborn as a rock. They ate supper together, quiet for the most part.

Yennefer was, predictably, the one to break the silence. “What are you planning to do?” she asked around a mouthful of food, somehow still looking elegant despite it. “When we find them.”

Not _if_ , when.

Geralt sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. His stomach was the fullest it’d been in weeks. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I - I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Of course you haven’t,” she replied with a hint of amusement. “Will you thank them? Tell ‘em to fuck off?” She smiled, pointing her fork at him. “A little bit of both?”

Geralt wasn’t sure. “I don’t… _like_ being followed,” he said slowly, honestly. “But they obviously do not mean any harm. I don’t know.”

“You could invite them to travel alongside you,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief. She knew he had no interest in a long-term travel companion. Even what they were doing, now, was only temporary. When he didn’t answer, she rolled her eyes. “It was just a joke.”

A few days passed; the person - or beast - never showed up.

“One more night,” Geralt said to Yennefer.

She rolled her eyes again. “Fine, fine,” she conceded.

That night, he followed the usual routine. He knew where Yennefer was hiding and pointedly did not look her way, preparing his bedroll and stomping out the fire. Sliding into the bedroll, he rolled over and closed his eyes.

He was awoken by Yennefer’s distressed voice - “ _Geralt! -_ and a heavy weight on his chest.

Opening his eyes, he saw a darkened figure hovering over him. Without missing a beat, he sat up, grabbing blindly. His hand finally made contact with _something._ He grabbed it, holding on for dear life. He heard twigs cracking as Yennefer scurried over out of her hiding place.

As Geralt blinked, his vision became more and more accustomed to the dark.

He was holding the arm of what looked _suspiciously_ like a human. Yennefer stopped near them. “Well?” Before he could answer, she was making a ball of fire in the air with magic, blue and crackling. Yennefer let out a soft gasp.

Now, with more light, he could see the person better.

They _were_ strangely human, but only in some ways, like the dark tousled hair and bright blue eyes, two arms, two legs. But the similarities ended fairly quickly: their ears were pointed, like an elf but not quite. Their - _his?_ he looked like a male - skin was pale with patches of blue and green freckles, glittering under the light of Yennefer’s fire.

Geralt had never seen something like it, not face-to-face, but he _had_ seen pictures in books.

“Wh - what is it?” she asked in awe.

The thing - the man? - blinked once, pursing their lips. “I am not an _it._ ”

Geralt’s eyes flickered to his hand, still wrapped around the man’s arm. He didn’t dare let go. Actually, he squeezed a little harder. “He’s a Fae,” he muttered without looking at her.

“ _What?_ ” she asked in disbelief, eyes widening. Her magic flickered with her disbelief. “Like, a _fairy?_ ”

He glared at her, bristling. His hair lifted, the tips sparking with what almost looked like lightning. “Stop talking, human,” he said. His voice was surprisingly smooth, and he spoke the common language. “I am not here for you.”

Geralt could see the fire in Yennefer’s eyes, even brighter than the flames she had created with her magic. He knew this wouldn’t end well if he didn’t do something. He stood up, pulling the Fae with him. He wasn’t as short as he’d been expecting. Actually, he was nearly the same weight.

“We know,” he said, staring at him. “You’re here for me.”

Of all things, he didn’t expect the Fae to look _embarrassed_. “You’ve noticed me?”

Yennefer let out a disbelieving laugh. Geralt glared at her. At least she wasn’t nearly as scandalized by his glare, waving him off. He turned back to the Fae and finally, slowly, released his arm.

“You’ve been leaving me - flowers,” he said. “Is it you, right?”

“Jaskier,” he replied, too fast, like he’d been waiting for the right moment to share it. “They call me - ” he paused, clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders. “My _name_ is Jaskier.”

Now, standing, he could better see that the young Fae was naked. Huh. His eyes flickered to Yennefer, who was smirking, and back again. “Here,” he said stiffly, tugging off his shirt. Jaskier stared at him oddly. “Put it on.” He paused. “For our sake.”

He looked slightly put-off but he took the shirt, anyway. He was about the same height, but marginally smaller in every other way, so the shirt fell low enough to cover his most delicate parts.

Thank the Gods.

“We should talk,” Yennefer said smoothly. “ _You_ \- ” she continued, pointedly staring at Jaskier “ - should explain yourself.”

Jaskier glared at her. Geralt had never met a person, human or otherwise, who was brave enough to do that. _Twice_. He was mildly impressed. “I will,” he replied sharply. “To _him_ , not you.”

Her nostrils flared as she took a threatening step toward him, her magic flickering. “You little - ”

“Yen,” he interrupted, firm but soft. Her head snapped in his direction. “Just give us a few minutes.”

Her mouth fell open. “Geralt,” she said, perfectly even. “You have to be kidding me.”

“Yen,” he repeated, as simple as that.

Taking a deep breath, she enclosed the fire in her fist, the forest darkening around them. Turning away, she stomped out of the clearing, head held high. Geralt intended to start the fire - the _real_ one - but suddenly there was a new beam of light in the air above them, shining brightly. He looked at Jaskier, who smiled sheepishly.

“Too much?”

Geralt shook his head. “Sit with me.”

They both sat on the ground. Jaskier seemed to be getting the hang of clothes already, as he tugged the shirt down over his knees, blocking the obscene view of - well, didn’t matter. Geralt pointedly lifted his gaze.

“Why are you following me?” he asked, aiming for gentle and probably failing. “Why the flowers?”

Jaskier frowned, shoulders slumping. He fidgeted with a bracelet. No, Geralt realized, it wasn’t a bracelet. It was ribbon, tied loosely around his wrist, the same ribbon that had been tied around the flowers. “You really don’t remember?” he asked finally.

That wasn’t what Geralt had been expecting. “What do you mean?”

Jaskier looked away. “I was very young,” he said. “You saved me from a werewolf. I didn’t have my powers yet. Or - or even my wings.” He gestured at his back, which did _not_ have wings. Geralt resisted the urge to ask to see them. “Do you really not remember?”

He blinked once. He wanted to remember, really, but he’d been alive for so long… He barely remembered anything from those years.

From his understanding, Jaskier’s own kind lived very long as well, and really only died from predators. How had he remembered for so long? And why, now, did he decide to visit him?

“Why are you doing this, now?” he asked. “After so long?”

Jaskier smiled shyly. “I was nervous. The others tried to talk me out of it.”

“You should’ve listened,” he said, forcing his voice to be as soft as possible. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

Jaskier frowned; the expression looked almost unnatural as him, as pretty as he was, bright-eyed and glowing. “Should I not have come?” he asked, and suddenly his bottom lip was quivering, eyes glistening with tears.

The memory was like a jolt to his system. A young baby that looked human despite his medallion shaking. A werewolf, standing over it. The warmth of the baby in his arms, and a beautiful woman stepping out to thank him. He hadn’t thought much about it, at the time, why a random woman and her baby were so deep in the woods. He had been too distracted by her beauty, just as unnatural as Jaskier’s, dark hair and the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen. She had looked entirely human, probably using magic to hide herself.

He had been too naive - or maybe even intimidated, though he’d be less inclined to admit that - to question her. He had simply handed the baby over.

“Geralt,” he heard, pulling him from the clutches of the memory.

He blinked at Jaskier. “I remember,” he blurted. “You and - was that your mother?”

“Something like that,” he replied with a small smile.

He nodded slowly. “Is that why you found me?” he asked. “To thank me?”

Geralt had never been a fan of being _thanked_. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the sentiment, sometimes, but he found that it was lackluster. He didn’t want pretty words; he wanted _real_ things, like money or help. To be treated as someone _worthy_ of their thanks would be a great start. Most of them would thank him when they were alone only to turn on him once others arrived on the scene.

“Yes,” Jaskier said, nose scrunching. “And no.”

He arched a white eyebrow. “No?”

Jaskier cleared his throat, hard, jutting his chin in the air. “I wish to accompany you on your travels,” he said with a blinding confidence. Yennefer needed to be careful, lest she be overthrown. “The flowers were just - ” He bit his lip, looking mildly embarrassed. “Well, they aren’t the real apology. I know I don’t look like much, but don’t let my looks deceive you. I can be _very_ helpful.”

Geralt didn’t doubt that. He had done a good job of concealing his presence for over a year, and was actively casting more magic than he could ever hope to do. That wasn’t the problem.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I saved you because it is what _I_ do. You don’t have to repay me.”

Jaskier looked at him with an odd twist to his mouth. It wasn’t a smile, or a frown, somehow a mix of both. “But I want to,” he said with a surprising conviction. “Ever since you saved me, I’ve - I’ve been waiting for this day. I told you, I wanted to come sooner but the others didn’t think it was safe. I had to wait until I was fully grown. As soon as I could, I started to search for you, but I didn’t even know your _name_ at the time.”

He listened, silent and stiff.

“I found you, finally, and - and I wanted to approach but I didn’t know how.” Jaskier fidgeted with the ribbon again. “Then I saw the _loveliest_ flower and I just - ” He paused, cheeks pink, lowering his eyes. “Not a very practical gift for a witcher, I suppose.”

Geralt thought back to the very first flower, and the ones after that. “I wouldn’t say that,” he replied quickly. Jaskier looked up, eyes sparkling with hope. “They… smelled good,” he continued lamely. It was enough for Jaskier, apparently.

He grinned brightly. “Not a waste, then?”

Geralt forced a small smile. “Not entirely.”

Jaskier ducked his head, still grinning. His freckles were mesmerizing; Geralt could hardly look away. He had them on his cheeks as well as his shoulders, sparkling and colorful. He was _beautiful_.

“You should return,” he said. Jaskier looked up, no longer grinning, not even smiling. “I appreciate you finding me, and the flowers, and - all of it. But you would be safer if you stayed with them, Jaskier.”

Jaskier huffed. “I don’t care about _safety_ ,” he said, and suddenly there was a gust of wind as his wings broke free, expanding behind him for what seemed like miles. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. They hardly looked delicate. Quite the contrary; they were thick and sturdy, green and blue - same as his freckles - and sparkling. Jaskier flapped his wings, head held high. “I can take care of myself.”

It was almost comical - endearing, even - the way Jaskier lowered his wings after a few seconds of silence, tucking them behind him with a sheepish look. “Um.”

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Not a damsel in distress,” he muttered. “Got it.”

Jaskier brightened at the praise (if it could even be _called_ that), the tips of his wings twitching, just visible over his shoulders. “I can go with you, then?” he asked hopefully.

He stared at him. “I don’t do travel companions,” he said eventually, truthfully. “I prefer traveling on my own.”

“But that’s just because you’ve never had the right one,” Jaskier said with a confidence that really _was_ impressive. “I can fend for myself, and help you in many ways.”

Geralt didn’t really doubt that. Again, he had proven himself. “Jaskier,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re offering,” he continued, struggling for his next words. “My life is dangerous, and frankly not the adventure I think you’re looking for.”

Jaskier blinked once before his expression shifted into something of near-anger. “I am not looking for an adventure,” he said firmly. “I came here looking for _you_. To be with _you_.”

“But you didn’t have to,” he argued. “You don’t owe me anything. You don’t even know me.”

Jaskier let out a sudden groan, tugging at his hair. His wings flapped. “I _know_ that,” he said, mouth twisted in a frown. “But I _want_ to. That’s why I searched for you, why I waited all this time. I didn’t have to do any of this, I’m aware, but I did because I _wanted_ to.”

His wings suddenly dropped, disappearing behind his back. Expressive little things they were.

“I don’t know what to say,” Geralt said eventually. He really didn’t want a travel companion, not long-term, he had always been firm on that, but it wasn’t like Jaskier was _wrong_. He _would_ be helpful in more ways than he could even predict, judging by the power he could feel radiating off him. He wondered if he even knew his own strength. If he had ever really had to use it.

Jaskier ducked his head. His hair was long, falling over his face like a curtain. There were a few flowers tucked into his hair that he hadn’t noticed before. Geralt bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing a smile. He looked up from under dark eyelashes.

“You _could_ accept my offer,” he mumbled quietly. His eyes were so blue, nearly endless. Like the sea. “Just a few months. If you’re not happy with my presence by then, I’ll go.”

Geralt looked away and back again. “Three months,” he said tersely, “and then I’ll decide what to do after that.” It was an empty threat, if it could even be called that.

Jaskier blinked once before he was grinning, nearly blinding. Geralt was taken back by the sight. He could hardly remember the last time someone had smiled at him like _that,_ like he was something _worth_ smiling at. His surprise was only doubled - tripled, maybe - when Jaskier launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around his neck.

He _definitely_ couldn’t remember the last time he had been hugged. Held, yes, in bed with whores, but not hugged out of pure affection.

Like the affection he could practically feel rolling off Jaskier in waves.

He was stiff for long enough that Jaskier pulled back, looking torn. “I - I should’ve asked first, is that right?” he asked. “I apologize. I’m still not entirely not used to social cues and - ”

That hardly had anything to do with it in Geralt’s case. Before Jaskier could finish his sentence, he was hugging him back, arms slipping around his waist. Jaskier relaxed a little, and so he did. “You’re okay,” he said gruffly. “But in the future, asking first might be smart.”

Not necessarily regarding _him_ , but others.

Jaskier smiled brightly. “Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

After a while, they separated their long limbs and stood up. “I need to talk to - eh,” he paused briefly. He could _feel_ Yennefer’s eyes on him. She’d been there the whole time, waiting. He didn’t think she had quite so much patience in her bones. She still found ways to surprise him. “My friend,” he said after a moment. “You stay here.”

“But you’ll return,” Jaskier said quickly. He smiled nervously, wings uncurling a bit. “Right?”

Geralt was silent for a few long seconds. Looking back, he would remember this moment as the moment he realized he was a goner. “I’ll be back,” he said finally, meaning it.

A few days later, after Yennefer had parted ways with them, Geralt woke up to a flower on his chest. He stared it for a few long seconds before picking it up, gently, between his fingers. He turned his head. Jaskier was already up - did he ever sleep? _Did_ Fae need to sleep? All questions for later - and watching him, an almost shy smile on his face.

“Really?” he asked with a hint of amusement, sitting up and waving the flower.

Jaskier shrugged, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His freckles sparkled under the morning sun.


End file.
